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After their shifts ended they punched out and left work to walk home. They had their umbrellas and the kids close by when Emmet stopped in his tracks. "I forgot my wallet at the Subway. I will walk back. I need to grab them before tomorrow's shift." There was some quiet discussion but Ingo nodded, allowing Emmet to run back while he walked the kids back home. Emmet whistled while he strolled through the subway in search of his belongings. Once he came across it he pocketed it, spun on his heel and went back out. It was still heavily raining so he opened the umbrella again and pulled his coat closer against him. Emmet passed beneath streetlamps illuminating his path ahead and alleyways. Most of them were dark because a light broke or none were installed. He hummed quietly to himself, wondering what Ingo would make for dinner. Unlike in the subway there was no warning, no preparation, no nothing. He was grabbed from behind, underneath his arms and pulled into one of the dark alleys he passed. Emmet squeaks at the contact and sudden change. His umbrella fell as his eyes darted around as he kicked his heels out. The first punch landed right against his cheek. He didn't hear a crack but tasted blood.
Another punch was already aimed at him. He dodged, pulling himself down and with him, the attacker holding him. With a quick movement of his knees, which groaned in protest, he pushed himself upright again, his head hitting the attacker's chin, followed by a groan. Good. His arms move back and he snaps his arm under that person's arm, hoisting them up into the air and over his shoulder on the ground. They really were trying to attack him! A Subway Boss! Once rid of one pest he rolled his sleeves up to attack the second one in front of him. The one that punched his cheek.. His smile could split his face as his gleaming eyes focused on the disguised person. He handled himself fairly well, kicking them into the side with a well timed kick to send them down on the ground. That should put them out of commission until he could call the police. He turned around, seeing the other person compose themself on the floor. Wanting more? Sure, he could deliver.. but let him call the police and an ambulance first. That is until a clicking noise grabs his attention. The one that had held him had a blade in their hand. The silver gleamed in the rain, drops reflecting in the poor street light.
They started swiping at him. The blade missed Emmet numerous times. He dodged, going through the fight like a double battle. Duck, attack. It wasn't the same as there were no clear Poke-attacks involved and stats to check but he knew his own strength and while fighting could calculate his opponent's. He got a few cuts up his arms, blocking a near call and some unexpected fast thrusts. Another fruitless attack and he grabbed them. He flicked the attacker's wrist, twisting the switchblade out of their hand. It clattered to the ground. Emmet punched them square in the face. He could hear a satisfying crack followed up by whimpering. He spun on his heel to check up on the second one when a cold wind nipped past his hair. He has a split second in which he registers gray above him. A loud, ear shattering "crack" noise followed right after, shaking his being through his core. He feels the ground beneath him, hands pressed against wet concrete. He tries to push himself up but his body protests. He grunts at the ringing in his ears. Black spots form in Emmet's vision, obscuring the attacked. He hadn't seen them ,regret courses through his veins, angry that he didn't pay enough attention. His sluggish thoughts are send flying as a kick hits him square in the gut. His hands fly to the pained area, clutching it. Another kick is delivered right to the doorsteps of his face. His nose crunches under the pressure. He doesn't shout and instead bites down a yelp, blood already tricking down over his lips. The rest is a hazy blur of pain. His shoulder. His middle. Arms. Hands? He can't tell after a while, growing numb. He doesn't feel the rain pelting on his beaten body, doesn't hear the retreating footsteps. His mind swims and words aren't words anymore. He is greeted by a black void, welcoming him to a place of dull aches and warmth.
—-------------------
Ingo stood, his phone in his hand, held uselessly against the side of his face. Echoed ringing bounced off the walls, amplifying and taking over the empty space. His umbrella stood above him, barely keeping the torrent off of his body as he stared down at the sight wide glassy eyes.
Red on white. Signs of a scuffle. A body left here alone, in the cold.
Ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring. Nobody picked up the phone.
Hello, I am Emmet! Please leave a voicemail- Ingo shut off the call. He wanted to throw the device, but pocketed it. It had done him no wrong. He dropped his umbrella, no longer caring about being wet. He knelt down, gently prodding at the body before him. The coat was muddy and soaked through, sticking to the figure’s thin frame. He was cradling his side. Ingo flipped him gently, worried he might cause more damage. His face was pale, too pale. He seemed unconscious. Ingo placed two fingers to his neck, hoping, desperately, that something would come to him, anything to alert him that there was still a soul left.
Something fluttered. It was faint, but it was there. Ingo did not have time to call someone.
He placed his arms under Emmet’s legs and back, lifting him and cradling him to his chest, making sure not to jostle him too much. “Chandelure,” he called. A Pokeball popped open. “Scan the area. Search for traces of who did this. I need to get him to a hospital.”
He heard the sizzling of the rain on her warm fire, but they did not snuff out. If anything, the flames burned brighter as the ghost took in the scene before her, her ghostly energy thrumming inside her glass body with anger. He understood. “I will be back as soon as I can ensure he is alright. If I do not return, meet me at home.” And with that he took off, tightly clutching his brother to his body, hoping, praying to the Dragons themselves that Emmet would be okay.
—--------
Ingo strode back into the dark alley, sans a passenger. He was shaking now, barely able to control himself.
He had been stabbed, they had told him. Punched and kicked. Likely at least two attackers, one had said. His nose was shattered, he might need surgery. He might not be able to breathe properly. He might have lasting damage.
Ingo squared his shoulders. A discarded plastic cup danced in the breeze. He blew two notes, low whistles. A figure materialized out of thin air. “Lure.”
“Find anything?”
Instead of answering, the ghost led him away. Ingo followed. Chandelure is extremely good at tracking. He would let her do what she did best. Find dirty souls.
—---------
Ingo approached the building. Chandelure dimmed her flames, leading him inside. It was a sleazy motel just outside of Nimbasa. Ingo set his jaw and flexed his hands. He had removed his gloves already. She approached a certain door, stopping there and watching Ingo. He looked at her and tilted his head. She bobbed her body at him in a facsimile of a nod.
He knocked three times. At first, there was no movement within. Then, a door opened, revealing a man. He was not particularly tall. He had a large bruise blossoming from his jaw. Ingo would have smirked if he had been able to, for he had a hunch at who had caused it. The guy scrambled back, yelping. Two other heads popped up behind him. Ingo noticed a familiar leather wallet on the table. His blood boiled.
He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and let himself in, slamming him into a wall and shutting the door behind him with his foot. Chandelure floated in, holding back the other two with Psychic. They strained against her, but to no avail.
The other two tried to scream, but it did not work. Ingo released the man, allowing him half a second of air, before he wound up and punched, right where his twin had done so not two hours before. He could feel the man’s jaw structure give way under his fist, watched as a tooth flew clean out of his face and across the room. He crumpled with a strangled yell. Ingo kicked him, hard, directly in the ribs. The man curled up, whimpering as Ingo decided to put him out of his misery. He curled into another fist and punched him directly in the temple. The guy’s eyes rolled back in his head as they closed and his body went limp.
Ingo turned, facing the other two. He could feel the hot snake of rage still coiling, thrumming under his skin, making him warm. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, his face darkening further as he approached them. Chandelure released them from her clutches. She knew what was about to happen.
He approached quickly. The other two did not even have time to scramble away from them before he approached them. He grabbed the one and dealt a punch to the head, knocking him down quickly. The other brought out a metal implement. He was going to play dirty.
The guy held it at crotch height, his hands shaking. Ingo could see the fear rolling off him in waves. The man ran forward, trying desperately to get the upper hand with brute strength. Unfortunately for him, the Battle Subway required more than just brute strength, but strategy. Ingo rolled over the bed, using his momentum to kick him square in the jaw. As he was distracted, Ingo reached over and wrenched the knife from his grasp, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and slamming him against a wall. He tried to make a grab for the blade. Ingo swiped it into the man’s hand, burying it clean through his appendage and pinning it to the wall with a thin crunch. The man screamed.
“Just take it, man! Seriously! How are you this healed up already-”
“My brother,” Ingo ground out, his body thrumming with angry energy. “That was my brother. ” He kicked the guy in the shins, with all his might. He screamed. Ingo heard something pop and his knee bent at an awkward angle. He did it again, to the other leg. Another agonizing, bloodcurdling scream. Then Ingo removed the knife from the wall, and therefore out of his hand. He let the man crumple to the ground. He was shaking. Ingo closed the blade and pocketed it. This man did not need it.
He kicked a phone in the conscious man’s direction and got in his face one more time, meeting the attacker’s terrified, wide blue eyes with his own glinting silver ones. “Call an ambulance. Consider yourself lucky. Do not ride the Subway again.” His sentences quiet, barely a whisper, and were filled with a cold malice, the kind that only appears in those with murderous intent. The guy nodded, not speaking. Probably for the best.
And with that, Ingo stood, his heels clicking together. Chandelure followed at his shoulder as he opened the door and left the motel, returning to the torrential downpour outside and shutting the door behind him. He needed to check on Emmet.
—------------------
“Ingo?”
Ingo looked up from the book he had been reading. Emmet’s tired gaze met his, watching him. Ingo quickly shut the book and set it aside, pulling his chair closer to his brother. “Emmet, how are you feeling?” Ingo took Emmet’s hand in his own.
“Stuffy. Whu’ happened?” Ingo stood, grabbing a cup of water for Emmet before answering.
“You were attacked. The damage was not too severe, thankfully. You need some rest in the meantime. Here, drink. You seem rather parched.” Ingo aided Emmet in drinking the liquid, who gulped it down. He must have been incredibly thirsty.
“Where’d they go?” Emmet slurred out, his tongue seemingly too dry still for his mouth to compute. Or perhaps it was the last of the anesthesia wearing off. Or the fact that his facial structure had been aggressively realigned and he was still not used to it.
“They have been dealt with. Do not worry about it. Instead, focus on resting and getting better. The doctor says that your nose may not go back to the way it was perfectly, but they have done the best they could. Otherwise, there are a couple of broken ribs on you, but they did not harm anything too vital. You were cut up the arms several times, as well, but they were mainly surface wounds. They had no intent to kill.”
Thank their lucky stars for that, or they would have never gotten to see the light of day again.
“‘Ngo? You okay?” Emmet was watching him peculiarly.
Ingo blinked slowly and squeezed Emmet’s hand. He was being too obvious. The surge of rage had dulled, but there still rested a quieter, more primal urge in his soul, to protect. “I assure you, I am quite alright. Just a little shaken. I have informed the station I will not be in today, instead here to keep you company. Elesa sends her regards. She wishes to visit when you are feeling up to it. I suppose I should call one of the doctors down to inform them of your wakefulness.” Emmet smiled at him, as much as he could around the bandage on his nose.
“You look tire’,” Emmet yawned.
“I was up much of the night ensuring you were in safe hands. I will rest soon. I promise.”
“I ‘ove you, I’go.” He was incredibly nasally and Ingo could tell he was still a little out of it. His pupils were incredibly dilated.
“I love you too, Emmet. I will return shortly, alright?” Ingo stood and went to get the doctor and he could feel the small smile playing on his lips. He would ensure nothing like this happened to his brother again. He almost hoped those robbers told others about what had happened when you messed with one of the Subway Bosses.
The other was never far behind.